


Your Scars are Mine

by TriDom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Peter, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Gerard Argent is his own warning, Hunter!Chris, M/M, Mental Illness, Petopher Week 2018, Scars, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, has a happy ending, right hand!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 02:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14010372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriDom/pseuds/TriDom
Summary: When the youngest of a pair of soulmates turns 21, their scars appear on each other's bodies.When Peter turns 21, his previously flawless hide is suddenly covered in scars.





	Your Scars are Mine

**Author's Note:**

> *** Soulmates get their bond solidified when they touch each other for the first time ***

Peter got his first scar when he was twenty-one. 

He should say that when he turned twenty-one, he got more scars than he could count. 

That morning when he woke up, as he dressed for his morning biology class, he noticed the first of them on his forearms. He ran his fingers over the skin where it was covered in a thick layer of thin, pale lines. A few of them were wider and deeper. He couldn’t feel them on his own skin; it was as even as it had ever been, like the glass-topped dining room table his grandma had. He could see the wood inlay beneath, but it was perfectly smooth to the touch. 

As he sat in his first and second classes, he rolled up his sleeve and traced some of the lines on his forearms. There were pale lines on his knuckles too, a few on the top of his arms that were clearly from natural sources. A few people glanced at him, but none of them said anything, not even his friends. 

Throughout the day, a slow chain of realizations turned in his mind, like cogs sliding together, his soulmate was human, he was the younger of the two of them, since neither received scars until both in the pair were twenty-one, they most likely worked in manual labor from the scarring on their hands and arms, and they liked to cut themselves with something thin, repeatedly, probably over the course of years. 

A quiet ache settled in his chest as he stared at them. He heard nothing his professors said in the Ivy League college classroom that his parents were shoveling money hand over fist to. However, it was the day he had received his soulmate’s marks. He didn’t think anyone could fault him. 

  
  
  
  


That night, he celebrated his birthday with his friends, hopping from bar to bar on the college strip. His drunk best friend brushed his fingers over his inner arm, like he was touching a rabbit. Peter let him and drank with his other hand. 

He went to his apartment off campus drunk, falling against the walls as he stripped off his clothes. He crawled into his bed and growled softly as his body hummed with intoxication. His bed felt soft and thick beneath his hands as he crawled onto and then rolled on it. He savored that feeling of warmth and den before the words on his bare left thigh caught his eyes. 

_ I’m sorry I’m fucking up your body.  _

Peter traced his fingers over the words. They were darker than the webbing of scars on the insides of his thighs, like they’d been gone over repeatedly. The tips of his fingers tingled as he touched them. 

Then he felt a sharper tingling, not pain, not quite, on his right arm. He watched as a new line add over the others on his forearm, followed by another. 

“Please, stop,” Peter whispered in his dark apartment, wiping his thumb over the marks as they joined the others and he could hardly tell where the new ones were. 

He stared at his arms until well past midnight, but no more lines formed. There was no more tingling. By the time he fell asleep, his intoxication was long gone and the ache in his chest had settled more deeply. 

  
  
  
  


On Thanksgiving break, his mom took his arm while he was sitting at the island the morning after he got home. They were alone in the kitchen that early, the scent of vanilla and batter warm and sweet. She rolled his arm face-up and rubbed her thumb over the scars. 

“Sweetheart,” she said. 

“It sucks.” 

“Are there a lot of them?” 

“They’re all over,” he said. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Peter shrugged. “I’ll meet them one day. Hopefully it’ll stop.” 

“I hope so too,” she said, ruffling Peter’s hair before going back to the griddle. 

Peter finished his breakfast then went to find a hoodie. He could handle his mom, but he’d prefer to not deal with it from his sister, brothers, cousins, aunts, and uncles. It was easier to have them tease him for needing a hoodie in the fifty degree weather. 

  
  
  
  
  


A year after he graduated college, his uncle started to train him to be the right hand to his sister. His mom had been training Talia to take over the alpha position her entire life. At least he had the chance to be a stupid college boy first. Talia had to go to law school. He went for bullshit and finally settled on pre-law so he could assist her as well as he could since his heart was in nothing else. 

Beacon Hills was mostly quiet. Being his pack’s right hand wasn’t the most difficult job in the world. Sometimes they had to run a fairy or some ghouls off their land, but that was it. It was rare that an omega came near their territory with it reeking of wolf piss. Those that did could normally be chased away. The ones that couldn’t be occasionally joined the pack or if they’d already killed a human and had hunters on their trail, they were killed and left at the edge of Hale territory. Sometimes with letters, like: 

_ Please do your job. We don’t enjoy handling hunter business.  _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Peter Hale  _

It was Peter’s job to check that the bodies were taken in a timely manner. Most often they were gone within three days. For two years, he never saw the hunters that came, until the afternoon that he did. A large SUV was parked in the clearing where they left discarded bodies. A handful of men were around it, but one was standing beside the body, smoking a cigarette and reading Peter’s note. 

Peter picked through the underbrush, careful to not make a noise until he was standing a few feet in front of the hunter. He wore a utility jacket and had an assault rifle hanging against his back. He was probably four or five years older than Peter, and smelled of smoke and wolfsbane. 

“It’s been there for six days,” Peter said. 

The hunter looked up. His eyes were incredibly pale with the sky gray as his backdrop. 

“We do have other jobs to do besides being the Hale Pack’s dumpster service,” he said. 

“I would hope so. I’d hate to think you do this badly if we’re your only region.” 

The hunter put his cigarette out against a tree and put the filter in his pocket. Peter smiled slightly. So polite. 

“Peter Hale?” 

“How did you guess?” 

“You’re as much of a smart ass in person as you are in your letters.” 

“Thank you,” he said, “and you are?” 

“Chris Argent.” 

Peter growled quietly, his eyes flashing as he smiled. “I didn’t realize our little pack deserved an Argent.” 

“It doesn’t,” Chris said, but he smiled when he said it. 

Peter looked past Chris at the men standing around the SUV, watching them, their hands near their rifles. 

“I’m going to excuse myself before one of your men gets trigger-happy,” he said. 

“They wouldn’t do that.” 

“I’d rather not trust it. I’ve heard a wolfsbane bullet isn’t comfortable,” Peter said. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Argent.” 

“No, it’s Chris or Argent.” 

“Let me guess,  _ Mr. Argent is my father? _ ” 

“You already know that,” Chris said, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out a card. He held it out to Peter, who took it. “Next time you have an omega, call us if it’s too much for you to handle.” 

Peter snorted. “I’ll call you the next time a dead body lays outside the territory for more than two days.” 

“It’s better than a smart ass note.” 

“Is it?” Peter asked, as he took a step back into the woods. “It was nice to meet you, Chris.” 

“Same.” 

Satan himself couldn’t have had a more charming smile. Peter was sure of that as he turned and let himself be engulfed by the trees. He might be reckless, but there was reckless, and then there was using the card Chris had given him to set up a point in time to fuck him boneless. Peter wasn’t that reckless. 

  
  
  
  
  


The next omega didn’t come for six months. When it did, and the body was still laying in the tall dead weeds two days later, Peter took Chris’s card from his bedside table. The phone rang for long enough that he thought it would go to voicemail before Chris answered. 

“Hello?” 

“No wonder there’s still a body outside of my territory, the hunters are all sleeping,” Peter said, brushing his fingers over a new large scar on his arm. It must have happened the night before. He hadn't felt it in his sleep. 

“Who is this?” 

“Peter Hale,” he said. “Do hunters normally sleep in the middle of the day?” 

“I’ll send someone out,” he said, ignoring his question. 

“Eastern edge of the property.” 

“You could burn it yourself.” 

“I could, but no one likes a nosy park ranger,” Peter said. 

He heard Chris snort. “It’ll be gone tomorrow, your majesty.” 

“Thank you,” Peter said, hanging up the phone. 

He smiled slightly as he put Chris’s card back into the drawer and left his bedroom. He could burn the body, but he didn’t care to get his hands dirty. His sister had told him he should’ve been a cat instead of a wolf more times than he could count. She could say it as much as she liked, he’d never seen her drag a body anywhere, not even to the edge of the preserve like he did. Even that smell was hard enough to wash from his hands. 

  
  
  


 

He killed an alpha by accident when he was twenty-five. He never wanted to be an alpha. The overflow of power was near to a possession. As the lone alpha’s heart was pierced by the bullet Peter fired, he felt heat surge down his throat and spread into his chest like a bomb.

There hadn’t been a choice. The alpha was rabid and on their land. It would’ve killed him and his uncle, but it was still a violation of his soul. He dropped to his knees beside the body as vomit trembled at the back of his throat. Then his uncle was there. Leaves crunched beneath his boots as he brushed Peter’s hair back from his forehead, wiping away the sweat and promising things would be okay as Peter threw up in the tangles of weeds and thorns. 

He had never wanted to be an alpha. Never.

  
  
  
  


He stayed with his sister’s pack, his pack. She was a good alpha. He respected her. That was all they needed. It took time, but he started to see the possession as a blessing. Now his growing pack had a strong alpha to lead and a second to protect them. They had the foundation to grow and they did. 

They should’ve known that growth would attract attention. From hunters and from wolves. The supernatural world was keeping an eye on their corner of Northern California. Peter, with the help of his uncle, started to train his nephews as soon as they were old enough to fight beside him. They took in other pack members they could trust and he trained them as well. The two houses they’d had when Peter was younger grew. They laid the foundation for two more. 

Finally a hunting clan made the claim that they were shifting humans against their will. It wasn’t true, but some hunters couldn’t see reason, even when it was put in front of their faces. When he was called into Talia’s office and told about it, she was pacing, like a wolf confined. 

“We’ve bitten no one against their will, Talia,” he said from where he sat behind her desk, leaning in her chair. 

“I know that,” she said. There was a growl in her voice. His own eyes glowed at that, but neither of them took it as a threat. “But they’ve acted on less.” 

“In Mom’s day,” Peter said. “It’s been a long time since they’ve let their bloodlust and prejudice get the best of them.” 

“I hope you’re right.” 

“And if they don’t, we have a large enough pack to stand against them.”

Talia looked at him across the room. Her eyes were dark red. The same color he knew his own were. 

“I won’t lose pack needlessly.” 

“I’d never lead them into a war that we didn’t attempt to diffuse first,” he said, “but we have the strength if we need it.” 

Talia began to pace again. Peter watched her and helped her pull the cards of the clans they needed to call, helped her strategize what needed to be said, and how behind the sound-proofed walls of her office. 

  
  
  
  


When they went to speak with the hunting clans, they requested them together. He was faintly surprised that the Argents were among them, but he shouldn’t have been. Just because the son seemed like a decent man didn’t erase the fact that the father never had been. 

There was a tension crawling over his skin as the old men and women sat around them in a large room in a neutral emissary’s home. Five families were repressed by their patriarch or matriarch. A few of them had one additional member from their clan, standing near by. Chris wasn’t among them. Only his old, disgustingly biased father. Peter spent most of the meeting wondering how a man so ugly could have a son so beautiful. Christopher’s mother must be stunning. 

When his eyes met Peter’s, after a full minute of Peter studying him, they were nothing compared to his son’s. 

“Is there something you wanted to say?” 

“To you? No,” Peter said. “Talia, we can’t change their minds.” He looked at his sister, who was rarely defeated in a courtroom, but this wasn’t a courtroom. “We know we haven’t done anything wrong. Our pack knows we haven’t.” 

Talia looked at Peter, flashing her eyes red. Peter did the same thing. Pulses pick up around the table. They hadn’t realized they were both alphas, which was exactly what Talia wanted to be sure they saw. 

“You’re right,” Talia said, standing. “Thank you for hearing us,” she said to the surrounding hunters. “As my brother said, we’ve said what we can. Whether you believe us or not, that’s in your hands.” 

“Thank you, Ms. Hale,” Gerard Argent said. 

“Thank you,” she said, nodding.  

Peter stepped behind her, guarding her back as they slipped from the building. With every step he was more surprised not to feel the sting of a bullet in his back even with the emissary’s protective spells in place. 

As they got into Talia’s Mercedes, Peter behind the wheel, Talia was already going through her phone. 

“There are more calls I can make,” she said. 

“I have a few more of my own as well,” he said. 

Talia looked at him across the cabin. Her eyes were the deep red of an alpha, who was slowly being backed into a corner. Peter reached across the console and squeezed her wrist. 

“If it comes to it, we have the numbers,” Peter said. “They don’t stand a chance.” 

“I know,” she said, but her face was creased with worry. “I can’t stand the thought of losing even one of ours.” 

Peter brushed his thumb over her wrist before dropping his hand. A weight was settling over his chest. The weight their elders must have felt for generations as each torch passed. They were in control of if people lived or died under their orders. It was a jagged pill to swallow, but he did. As they pulled onto the highway, he made as much peace with it as he could. Talia’s fingers never stilled over her phone as she did her best to stave off the inevitable.   

  
  
  
  


Two days after the meeting, Peter woke up from a heavy sleep feeling like he couldn’t breathe. There was pressure on his throat, pushing, tightening. He choked, clawing at his skin, but there was nothing there. 

“Peter,” his mom called, knocking on his bedroom door. 

He coughed, gagging as he hit the floor. The pressure wasn’t stopping. It was getting tighter, tingling. His head was hurting, pounding. His eyes were pulsing. His door opened and light from the hall spilled in. He pushed against the wall, trying to breathe, gasping as his mother turned on the light. 

“Mom,” he croaked. 

His mom kneeled beside him, touching his face and neck. Her eyes went from worried to devastated in a split moment. 

“Shh, baby, breathe, you’re okay,” she said. 

_ You’re okay.  _

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, tears building behind his lids. His soulmate was dying. He pushed closer to the wall, the pain in his throat and chest building as he started to cry. His eyes shifted as he growled. His mom brushed back his hair. He was going to feel him die before he had ever been allowed to touch him. 

Then it ended. 

He gasped for breath, his throat raw. His eyes were still burning as he forced himself to his feet and walked toward the mirror on the back of his closet door. There was a line on his throat. He went weak as he hit the floor, staring closer at the mirror, hoping to see hand prints, but it was the straight unbroken line of a noose. 

Peter’s mom touched his shoulders, pulling him up and onto the bed to hug him. He cried harder as she squeezed him tightly. 

“Shh, he’s okay,” his mom mumbled. “I believe he’s okay, Peter.” 

Peter just nodded, because he didn’t know. Faintly, he registered what he had known, but kept to himself, but his mother knew anyway. His soulmate was a man and she didn’t care. Beneath overwhelming pain, he felt the slightest tinge of gratitude.

His throat throbbed until gray light was creeping beneath his blinds. His mom sat with him as he trembled and tears continued even when the sobbing stopped. 

“They’re fading,” his mom said quietly, touching his face as he pressed him to lie down. “He’s okay, Peter.” 

Peter nodded and squeezed her hand as he finally let his eyes close. He could do nothing, but believe her, so he did as he fell into a thin, fitful sleep. 

  
  
  
  
  


Two days later, Peter sat in his office. He opened one of his desk drawers and sorted through the box of cards he had until he came to Chris Argent’s slightly dog-earred and wilted card. He dialed the number on his phone and listened to it ring.

“Christopher Argent.” 

“Oh, now it’s Christopher,” Peter said, putting his feet on the desk. “I thought I was supposed to call you Chris or Argent.” 

“Who is this?” 

“Peter Hale,” he said, “But you already knew that.” 

“I had a guess,” Chris said. His voice sounded rough, like he had a cold. “Long time.” 

“I’m not on body-checking anymore,” Peter said. 

“Ah, do you have people for that now?” 

“I do.” 

“Aren’t you special?” Chris asked, his voice still rough. He cleared his throat. 

“Aw, do you have a cold?” 

“Getting over one,” Chris said. “I heard your pack has gotten itself into a mess.” 

“We haven’t, but nosy hunters are trying to make one for us anyway.” 

“You haven’t bitten anyone without consent?” 

“Of course we haven’t,” Peter said. “Are you part of the group against us?” 

“Directly? No.” 

“Do you support it?” Peter asked. 

“It depends.” 

“On?” 

“If you’re telling me the truth.” 

“Christopher,” he said, letting his voice go as low and smooth as possible. “You’ve seen me, do you really think I need to bite people against their will?” 

“I heard you’d become an alpha.” 

“You heard correctly.” 

“But your pack stayed the same?” 

“Mhm, I can be very nice.” 

“I’m sure you can,” Chris said. “Why are you calling me?” 

“I’ll be in your debt if you can talk some sense into your friends." 

“Why would they believe me?” 

“Why wouldn’t they?” 

The line was quiet for a long moment before he heard Chris exhale. 

“I’m trusting that you’ve been a good pack for a long time. If you prove me wrong, I’m coming for you.

“Please do.” 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Thank you, Christopher,” Peter said, ending the call. 

His body felt like it was humming. It always did that when he was able to talk himself out of a fight instead of into one, so he didn’t pay much attention to it. He didn’t notice that the tingling was nearly burning in his arms and the insides of his thighs. 

  
  
  


 

The hunting factions didn’t listen to reason. 

Luckily, there were fewer than they’d let on and they were stupid enough to bring the fight on Hale territory, which Peter and his pack knew better than the backs of their own hands. Over the sound of gunfire, the smell of gunpowder, and through the haze of smoke, he could hear the yells of men and the howls of his pack. Anyone he saw without glowing eyes, he shot without hesitation. If they were a wolf, the full metal jacket rounds would do nothing to them but sting. If he hit a hunter, they wouldn’t be standing to fight again. 

The skirmish felt like it lasted hours and seconds at the same time. As the gunshots tapered and he could hear what was left of the hunters retreating through the underbrush, he lowered his rifle, taking a deep breath of the gunpowder-filled air.  

He heard running near him a split second before he saw the dark military-style jacket, non-glowing eyes, and a half-raised rifle. He brought his own back up and pulled the trigger. 

The hunter dropped and Peter felt like his own chest was slammed. He looked down for a bullet wound, but there was nothing. It still burned. It felt like fire as he pulled open his jacket and tore his t-shirt. Just to the side of his heart as a new scar. Dark and puckered. 

Peter looked toward the hunter that had dropped behind underbrush and went toward him, his breathing ragged. He’d only seen him once in his life. It should’ve been harder to recognize him, but he knew who it was before he ever even saw his face. 

“Chris,” he said, getting to his knees and touching his shoulder. 

Air was wheezing into Chris’s lungs. It gurgled. Chris stared at him, blood coming from his mouth with air bubbles. Peter touched his bare hand to Chris’s warm neck and a jolt shot down his arm, like electricity, like becoming an alpha, but it slammed him with the weight of a car. Chris’s eyes widened and he gripped Peter’s wrist. 

“I wasn’t with them,” he said, begging. “Dad’s men,” he said, his breathing harsh as he took a deep one. “I was trying to help you. I didn’t know why.” 

“It’s okay. Shh,” Peter said. “Do you want to be a wolf?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm as his heart pounded. He tried not to touch Chris’s face desperately, but he couldn’t help it. He was getting so pale. “Chris, now. Tell me. Please.” 

“I’m going to die.” 

“Not if you let me give you the Bite.” 

“He’ll kill me anyway.” 

“He can try,” Peter said, his eyes flaring red. “I will rip his fucking throat out, I swear to God.” 

“Can’t do that to your pack—” Chris said. 

Peter tilted his head to the side and bit deeply into Chris’s neck. Pain shot up his own as Chris groaned, his fingers digging into Peter’s back. Peter held him closer before slowly easing his teeth out and breathing against the side of his face. He smelled like gunpowder and wolfsbane. He smelled of the kind of loneliness that didn’t wash off after years of living in it, sadness that one had to be this close to scent. Peter mouthed his own teeth marks, licking them softly like it could make up for the fact that he’d made them. 

“I’m sorry,” he said against Chris’s ear. “I can’t let you die, I’m sorry.” 

Chris tightened his hands on his shoulders. 

Peter heard running and pulled the handgun from beneath his jacket, lowering Chris enough that he could be between him and whoever was coming. When he saw it was only Derek and his uncle, he lowered it. 

“Gerard Argent?” Peter asked, breathing hard. 

“He ran, I got him in the back,” his uncle said. Then he took a step closer. “Just kill him, Peter. Don’t be cruel.” 

Peter snarled as his uncle raised his own pistol. His uncle’s expression faltered when he saw the bite mark on Chris’s neck. Peter put his gun on the ground and took out his knife. 

“Both of you, look, because they’ll be gone when the Bite takes,” Peter said, cutting open Chris’s sleeves and then his own, showing his uncle and nephew the way that Chris’s scars matched his own. Peter whimpered at seeing Chris’s. They had texture, some of them were so incredibly deep. They laid over each other like thickly woven knit. Peter brushed them with his free hand, looking into Chris’s eyes. 

“Jesus, Peter, he isn’t—” his uncle said, backing away. “That is not Gerard’s son. You are not fucking soulmates with Gerard Argent’s son!” 

“Shoot me, Peter,” Chris said, his voice barely audible as he looked up at him. His eyes were so beautifully blue, almost white. “He’s right. Just shoot me.” 

Peter put his forehead against Chris’s, a man he hardly knew, but it felt like his heart would be ripped in half if he didn’t. Chris squeezed his wrist tighter, rubbing his thumb up into the divot of his palm. 

“They can kill me if they won’t take you,” Peter said. 

Chris stared up at him. Peter could smell the blood on his breath. 

“I don’t expect you to do this,” Chris said. 

“That’s the beauty of it, you don’t have to.” 

He kissed Chris softly, the barest press of their lips, because he couldn’t not. The Bite could always reject, or the wound might be too severe. It felt like his chest was being crushed when Chris kissed him back. 

“Peter.” 

Peter looked back at Talia, standing with his uncle, mother, and father. A low growl started in his chest. The trees went hyper-clear and his lips peeled back from his teeth. 

“If you want to kill him, just shoot me from there.” 

Then his mother came closer, her empty hands raised. 

“We would never take away your soulmate,” she said softly, “No matter who he is.” 

Peter looked at his uncle, who lowered his eyes, shifting to the side. Ashamed. Peter tried to make his teeth retract, but they wouldn’t. Chris’s blood was tacking to his skin. 

“Bring him to the house,” his mom said. “He’s pack. We don’t make pack suffer the Bite in the cold.” 

Peter stared at his mother, watching for any dishonestly in her face, but there was none. She wasn’t a liar. Her eyes flicked red. The color had always looked so warm in her face, like the fire in a hearth. 

“He’s hurt enough in his life,” Peter’s mom said gently, her eyes glassy. “Bring him to the house.” 

Peter had never felt so much like a pup as he did then, at nearly thirty, looking to his mother for approval and seeing it so clearly. Even Talia behind her had acceptance mixed with apprehension. He slid his arms beneath Chris’s legs and behind his shoulders before he picked him up off the ground. 

  
  
  
  


The first time he saw Chris naked, it couldn’t have been less sexual. His family left him alone with Chris in his small house behind the main estate. His soulmate’s skin was hot to the touch, pulsing warmth against him. Peter wanted to put him in bed, but he was covered in blood and sweat. 

He laid Chris on the bathroom floor and turned on the water to the tub, checking the temperature before leaning over Chris to listen to his heartbeat. It sounded like it was getting stronger. It definitely wasn’t getting weaker. 

“Chris,” he said quietly. “I’m going to give you a bath and put you in bed. I promise, nothing inappropriate.” 

Chris’s eyes fluttered open and he laughed slightly. It was just a huff of breath. “Very worried about inappropriateness from a soulmate.” 

Peter kissed his cheek then started to unbutton his shirt. 

“I’m sorry I shot you.” 

“I didn’t even tell you I was here.” 

Peter kissed his neck, near where his own teeth marks were. He pulled Chris’s shirt off, then his jeans, touching his cool fingertips to Chris’s thighs. Then he saw the words Chris had cut into his skin. He’d gone over them again recently enough to leave scabs. Peter kissed them softly. 

“I’m sorry I put so much on you,” Chris said between labored breaths. 

“I’m vain, but I’m not that vain,” Peter said, brushing his lips against the etched words, feeling the swollen ridges of Chris’s skin. 

Chris grunted as Peter picked him up again and put him in the water. Chris hissed at the temperature. Peter put his hand over Chris’s wound to keep the water from getting inside as he softly washed away the blood and fever sweat as the Bite was beginning to take hold. 

Chris pressed into the touches as much as he could. Peter kept touching his face to Chris’s, kissing his jaw and neck. Chris never pushed him away. He touched his neck and back with wet hands, breathing in his face. Peter touched his damp cheeks, feeling his coarse stubble, and smelling every scent in his short hair. 

“When,” Chris said, swallowing hard. “When will I be a wolf?” 

“The full moon,” Peter said. “It won’t be a fun week. I’m sorry.” 

“Better than dead.” 

Peter looked at Chris’s neck. The faintest line of the rope was still there. He touched it gently, waiting for Chris to realize why he was touching him there. He felt Chris swallow against his fingertips. 

“I felt it,” Peter whispered. 

“I’m sorry,” Chris said. “I didn’t think I had a soulmate. I had no scars.” 

“I can’t scar.” 

Chris smiled weakly. “I know.” 

Peter brushed his nose against Chris’s cheek against, breathing in his scent. After so long, he had him. It wasn’t someone he ever would have imagined, but even as he tried to think otherwise, he should have realized. He should have realized that no ordinary man would have been enough. He would be the werewolf to be irrevocably drawn by fate to an Argent. 

  
  
  


After he bathed Chris, he dressed him in his clothes and put him in his bed. If he was a gentleman, maybe he would’ve offered a guest room, but he wasn’t. He laid beside Chris in his bed and watched his chest rising and falling. 

“How long does it take?” Chris asked. 

“It depends on the person,” Peter said, “Sometimes a day, sometimes three.” 

Chris took another labored breath. Peter reached toward him, starting on his arm then creeping his hand beneath his shirt. He laid his hand near the bandaged wound and started to draw the pain, watching the lines trace up his own arm. 

“Thought that was a myth,” Chris said, between ragged breathing, staring at his arm. 

“We only do it for pack,” Peter said. 

Chris gave a hollow laugh. “Of all the things I thought could happen in my life, this never crossed my mind.” 

“You also didn’t think you had a soulmate. So short-sighted,” Peter said with a faint smile. 

Chris looked at him and Peter barely stopped himself from scooting closer to nuzzle him again. He had always made fun of his packmates who were overtaken by the bond, but now that it ran beneath his skin, fresh and powerful, he understood it completely. If they could inhabit the same body for a few days, he would be perfectly content. Then Chris touched his cheek, brushing his thumb beneath his eye, along his cheek bone. 

“I saw a mark once when I was cutting myself, I thought I did.” 

“I tried a few times,” Peter said. 

“I couldn’t feel it over the pain of what I was doing. The lines were so light I thought I was imagining them.” 

“I wish I could have shown you,” Peter said quietly. He felt his eyes water. He didn’t feel the need to try and hide it. The fact that his soulmate had inflicted so much damage to his own body had always ached, but putting a face with it, pairing it with the intense bond, he felt nearly immobilized. “Why do you do it?” 

Chris laughed again, a humorless noise as he looked past Peter to the window. “Father. Do I need any other excuse?” 

When he said it, a new palpation of pain throbbed through Peter’s hand, up through his arm. Peter siphoned at the pain harder. 

“Expectation,” he said, “Training from the time I was ten. Cut myself by thirteen. Couldn’t stop. There was always some reason. Then I turned twenty-one, I didn’t get even a hint of a mark. I cut myself more. Then a few years and I still had none,” Chris said, pausing to take another deep labored breath. Pain seared through Peter’s arm, but he would take it to hear this. “I didn’t realize Dad knew I’d been cutting myself until he pulled up one of my long-sleeved shirts and stared at it. I’ll never forget him saying,  _ Even if you had a soulmate, how would you know with as many scars as you’ve put on yourself? _ ” 

Peter whimpered before he could stop himself. He moved closer to kiss Chris’s cheek. Chris tilted into him, breathing the same air. 

“I never thought he knew, but he did know and he didn’t care,” Chris said. “I always knew he wasn’t a good father, but it was the first time I realized he didn’t care about me beyond what I could do for him.” 

“I’m sorry,” Peter said against his cheek. 

Chris laughed again. A humorless huff Peter had a feeling he would be getting used to the sound of. “I’ve never told anyone this much in my life.” 

“Soulmate,” Peter said, almost a quiet growl as he nuzzled Chris again. 

Chris put his hand on his neck, exhaling a deep even breath as Peter continued to draw his pain. 

“I thought the bond was bullshit,” he said. 

“So did I,” Peter said.

“But I’d do anything for you,” Chris said, looking at him with his beautiful blue eyes. One of the Fates must enjoy him profoundly. 

“So would I,” Peter said quietly. 

Peter didn’t know why he would ever need marriage vows after what they had just said. 

Chris rolled toward him, wincing. Peter followed his movement, adjusting the placement of his hand until Chris’s forehead was barely touching his own. He kissed Peter softly and Peter kissed him back. 

  
  


 

On the full moon, Peter sat with Chris on the grass behind the estate house. His pack milled around them, some of them still glancing at Chris. Peter knew it was because it was the first time most of them had seen him. It hadn’t been an easy transformation for Chris. He’d had the shift flu for four days and Peter had barely left his side as the fever fully set in. 

Now Chris was better, beneath the full moon that glowed white on his smooth skin. Peter leaned over and nuzzled his neck. Chris growled. It was such a sweet new noise. He had heard it for the first time yesterday, the first time they were able to have sex as the fever broke. Peter had let Chris top him, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to let him tonight, not with the his alpha so close beneath his skin. As Chris guided him into every position Peter could want, he had watched his scars fading, and disappearing. When it was finally night, Peter had laid on his side with Chris behind him, his hand loose on his neck as he twisted back to kiss him and Chris fucked him where he was sore in slow lazy thrusts after a day of the kind of rough brutal fucking Peter could’ve only imagined them to have at the start. The last time was a slow, sweet taper with Chris’s arms around him, his hips flush against his own as they made love with the moon glowing through the slats between the blinds on their bedroom floor. 

Remembering, Peter mouthed Chris’s neck and pushed closer. They didn’t know each other, not yet. He knew they would. But for now his bond was driven by that promise and the lust for every inch of Chris’s body. He trailed his fingers over Chris’s bare chest, where bullet scars used to be. Now his tan skin was beautiful and flawless, only covered in coarse chest hair that thinned down his stomach and into the band of his boxers. 

Chris gave to his mild alphaing perfectly, tilting his chin up to let him kiss and gently bite. He knew they were being no better than teenagers, but people could hardly expect better. It was his first full moon with his soulmate. He was nearly thirty and Chris was thirty-one. They had time to make up for. He didn’t want space between them and with the way Chris’s hands rarely left his skin, he felt the same. 

“We could just go home and fuck,” Chris said quietly.

Peter could smell the acidity of his anxiety. Chris would do anything to get them back to their house, back into the bed that easily theirs now. His hunter, his soulmate, was intimidated by the amount of wolves. 

“We will as soon as the moon starts to go down,” Peter said, near his ear, “But first we’re going to run together, so I can get you in the woods and fuck you there, perfectly and completely alone.” 

Chris growled again, an uncontrollable one. Chris coughed. Peter laughed and Chris pushed him, before Peter tilted Chris’s face up to kiss him. The full moon was pulling at his second skin and Peter couldn’t wait to see what his new wolf, what Chris’s fur looked like beneath the moon. How it would feel beneath his hands. As the sounds of howls began around them, Peter held Chris closer and kissed him like he was his own supply of oxygen until the moon took them both. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll end this by saying that this story is not meant to romanticize mental illness or self-harm. I know some people may draw that conclusion, but the story is from Peter's POV (who is not mentally ill and doesn't know Chris very well when this story ends). Just because they have met and Chris is now a wolf, and his scars have healed, doesn't mean he is magically cured. But now Chris does have an ally which I think is a pretty damn good start to his emotional growth and healing. :)


End file.
